


Tell Me It'll All Be Alright

by SpicedGold



Series: The Nara Family [25]
Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: And there's not a damn thing you can do but wait and hope, F/M, The utterly crippling stress of thinking someone you love is going to die, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: There are some things in life you can't prepare for.Not knowing if Temari is going to live or die is one of Shikamaru's greatest fears.
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Series: The Nara Family [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1160966
Comments: 37
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the official August addition to the Nara Family series (Like I have a schedule and am not just winging it) but I had a lot of feelings I needed to work through and since I couldn't sleep anyway the feelings became awful fanfiction that probably makes no sense. To assure you all, everyone is fine now, but I had a period of several days waiting to see if my horse would kill herself this time or recover from her latest attempt to work her way through the entire veterinary journal of catastrophic injuries. (She's okay. She's doing considerably better than I am.)

“Be careful today,” Shikamaru said absently, eyes on the horrendously scrawled notes Naruto had made. He wondered if he should send them to the code breakers and see if they could make more sense of them.

“Yeah.” Shikadai sounded dismissive, finishing breakfast. “It’s not a hard mission. Just an escort.”

Shikamaru looked up, over his papers, at his son. “You never know.”

He did, though. Yes, Shikadai’s mission was easy, but he didn’t know all the details. All his team was doing was a simple escort of some relative of a feudal lord, but the area they were going through had had a spate of attacks by rogue ninja. It had been decided to keep that information away from the genin, so they didn’t get hyped and start looking for trouble, but Naruto had asked for a Jounin team to follow from a distance just in case.

It was a bit risky, using a known Feudal Lord relative surrounded by low level shinobi to hopefully draw out the rogues, but Naruto had thought long and hard about it, and had finally decided to go through with it. The Jounin would be fast enough to intercept if needed.

Shikamaru just hadn’t expected his son to draw the mission.

“Tem,” he said, waving his empty coffee mug around vaguely.

She threw a glance over her shoulder from the sink. “You can walk the three feet to give it to me.”

“It’s too far,” he held the mug out pleadingly. When she just glared at him, he put his mug back on the table. “I’ll just leave it here, then.”

She rolled her eyes before returning her attention to washing up.

Shikadai slumped in his seat. “We’ve been stuck on easy missions like this for ages. When can things get a bit more interesting?”

Shikamaru sent his son a hard look. Today was probably the answer to that question. He was debating with himself to tell Shikadai to watch out or not, when Temari passed behind him on her way out the kitchen. She paused, leaning down.

“I’m on the team following him,” Temari whispered into his hair. “He’ll be fine.”

She straightened up and left without another word, before Shikadai could even begin to analyze the interaction.

Shikamaru eventually hauled himself up, staring quizzically at his coffee mug for a moment before shrugging and leaving it where he was. He was almost out the door when Temari yelled from somewhere in the house, “Mug in the sink!”

“Troublesome woman,” he muttered, doing a laboured about-face back into the kitchen.

“She tells you that every morning” Shikadai pointed out. “You’d think by now you’d have figured it out.”

“Routines give us stability,” Shikamaru replied.

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going now.”

“Be careful,” Shikamaru repeated, parental instincts kicking in.

“You keep saying that, but the mission is literally a walk in a forest. Not a whole lot I need to worry about.” Shikadai threw this comment flippantly over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

With a sigh, Shikamaru put his mug in the sink.

_Shikadai will be fine_ , he thought to himself. _He’s a good kid, and he’s responsible._

_Nothing will happen to him._

“Worried?” Naruto asked cocking an eyebrow after Shikamaru was silent all morning.

“Little bit,” Shikamaru admitted. He had been paging through some of Sasuke’s surveillance reports, but not a word was penetrating.

“I know it’s risky, but we decided it was the best plan.”

“I know.” Shikamaru shrugged. “And I know Shikadai will be fine, it’s just . . . it’s weird knowing I’m sending him into danger, but not warning him about it. I don’t know, I guess it’s the first time I know there’s a lot of potential for things to go wrong.”

“Hey,” Naruto smiled encouragingly. “We know Shikadai will think things through and do what’s right. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“You’re probably right,” Shikamaru smiled wanly. “I don’t need to stress about him.”

They fell back into silence after that, though it felt less strained. Shikamaru sent a few glances at the clock, trying to predict where Shikadai would be. Definitely outside the village by now, probably off the main road.

As the minutes ticked by, Shikamaru began to relax. No news was good news. Everything would go off without a hitch.

Shikadai would be fine.

Naruto and Shikamaru looked up at the sound of someone hammering on the door.

“Come in,” Naruto called, with a frown.

A Chuunin burst in, looking pale-faced and out of breath. His gaze landed on Shikamaru.

“Shikamaru, sorry, I -” he took in a breath. “They need you at the hospital. Urgently.”

“Shikadai?” he asked, already standing up, heart clenching slightly.

The Chuunin shook her head. “No. Temari.”

Part of Sakura was impressed at the speed with which Shikamaru arrived, but most of her was focused on her task at hand. “Shikamaru,” she said brusquely, the moment she saw him.

“What happened?” he asked, taking in the scene in one glance.

Two of the medics moved to the side for him, and he could finally see Temari, laid on a wheeled bed with Shikadai at her side, holding her hand, tears streaking his face. He was faintly shaking, a smudge of blood on his cheek, with a rapidly darkening bruise beneath it.

Shikamaru could feel the blood drain from his face at the sight of her. Ignoring the series of deep gouges in one forearm, ignoring the scuffed skin on her cheek and blood running from a cut right next to her eye, ignoring the powerful smell of blood . . . his eyes fell to her upper body. It was swathed in thick bandaging, but even that couldn’t cover up the fact that something horrendously serious was happening underneath. The gauze was uneven, as though it couldn’t lie flat, and soaked through with blood, and Shikadai was still whimpering.

“Sakura?” he questioned, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Compound fracture of the chest cavity,” Sakura said briskly, and Shikamaru felt his heart constrict. “She’s been dosed with a hefty load of field painkillers, and we’re prepping for surgery right now.”

Shikadai heaved in a wet, damp breath, not letting go of Temari’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Shikamaru said. “Not your fault, kid.”

“Yeah, it was,” Shikadai replied, voice tinged in anger to cover up the tears. “She took that hit protecting me.”

There would be time to talk about that later. For now, Shikamaru reached out a hand, smoothing Temari’s hair back. To his surprise, her eyes flicked open, locking immediately onto his. As always, her gaze could freeze him in place stronger than his shadows could ever do to her.

“Hey,” he said shakily.

“I’m sorry,” Shikadai blurted, voice cracking slightly. “Sorry, Mom, sorry, I wasn’t . . . I should’ve . . .”

“Calm down,” Temari crooned.

Shikadai gulped in a breath and buried his face against her shoulder.

Temari flicked her eyes to her son, then sought out Shikamaru once more.

“Hey, crybaby,” she mumbled, eyes closing again. “Don’t feel so good.”

“Sakura’s taking care of it,” Shikamaru replied. “You’ll be fine.”

He watched a muscle in her neck twitch, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Shikamaru,” Sakura said softly. “Please take Shikadai; we really have to move fast here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Shikamaru promised, running a hand through Temari’s hair again. “Everything’s gonna be fine . . .”

Gently, but pointedly, Sakura pushed him away, and he took Shikadai by the shoulder to pull him away. For a moment, Shikadai resisted, before giving in and standing against Shikamaru’s side, still shaking slightly.

One of the nurses sent him a sympathetic look. “You can wait, if you’d like, but it will probably be a while.”

Shikadai wiped tears off his face with the back of one hand, and looked up at Shikamaru, hoping for some sort of guidance or comfort.

Shikamaru stared at the doors that had closed Temari away from him. “I’ll wait,” he murmured.

The day was seemingly endless.

Shikadai sat in a huddle, sniveling for ages before he finally stopped wiping at his eyes and Shikamaru couldn’t hear his little sobbing breaths anymore. Then the boy moved to the window and just stared idly out of it, watching the clouds roll by.

Shikamaru sat, defeated, in an uncomfortable chair that he didn’t feel the need to remove himself from. He stared dully at nothing, mind racing, and he didn’t know how to shut his own thoughts down. What if she didn’t make it? What if she died? What if the last time he would see her happy and smiling was that morning at breakfast?

He didn’t know how to function without her. She was his everything.

“Dad?”

He turned his head vaguely in the direction of Shikadai’s small voice.

“C-can I go home?”

Shikamaru nodded.

“Will you . . . call me when Sakura’s done?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. He barely noticed Shikadai leaving. He continued to just stare blankly at nothing, mind whirring in overdrive. He wished he knew some way to turn off his thoughts. Because he knew all the statistics, and he knew all the probabilities, and he knew the numbers, and the odds were not in Temari’s favour.

And he was too practical to try to fool himself by thinking _she’ll be fine, she’s strong, she can handle anything_ , because people had limits and he never wanted to know what hers were.

And if she never came home, what was he supposed to do? How was he meant to live? He had built a life and a future around her; he didn’t know what to do if she wasn’t there. There had never been a Plan B; there had never been a need for one. Temari was stubborn and feisty, and nothing in the world could bring her down.

Or so he had thought.

He kept his eyes away from the clock, because he didn’t want to know how long it had been. Let him suffer in ignorance; it was better than counting down hours. The longer the surgery, the more complicated it was, the lower the odds of surviving, the higher the risks.

There were too many numbers in his head, making him sick.

The shadows in the room had grown long by the time Sakura called him softly, so he knew it was the afternoon, late afternoon, and he forced himself not to calculate the hours.

“We’re done with surgery, for today,” Sakura said, standing in front of him.

_For today_ stuck out dramatically, and he whipped his head up to stare at her.

“She made it through,” Sakura added, encouragingly. “She’s not out of danger yet, not by a long-shot, but this is one hurdle behind us. It was too risky to finish everything we needed to do in one surgery. So I’ll wait for a while, and when she’s stronger then we’ll finish everything.”

“Is . . . is she going to be okay?” It was hard to say, near impossible to force the words out, because part of him didn’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t say for certain,” Sakura said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. It could go either way right now.”

The room swam for a moment, and Shikamaru closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather back his focus. He opened his eyes slowly. “. . . What happens now?”

“Go home,” Sakura said firmly. “Rest. Talk to Shikadai. Try not to worry too much.”

Shikamaru stuck his hands in his pockets. “Can I see her first?”

Sakura nodded, smiling slightly. “Sure. Come with me.”

She led him to another small room. Before opening the door, she paused, hand on the handle.

“Shikamaru,” she said slowly. “Just a warning, she doesn’t look too good. I’m not sure how you’re going to take that.”

“I won’t pass out or anything, I promise,” he replied dully.

Sakura seemed content with that, and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, and there seemed to be an infinite amount of machinery in it, and that terrified Shikamaru more than he could admit.

_Necessary_ , he told himself, taking small steps into the room. _It’s necessary, it’s helping her, it’s keeping her alive._

Temari was near unrecognizable with the number of wires and pipes and tubes surrounding her, and for one blurry second Shikamaru was certain he would break his promise to Sakura. She steadied him swiftly, and firmly steered him back towards the door.

“Go home and lie down,” she ordered, but her voice softened a bit as she added, “Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, swallowing down sudden bile. Sakura left him to gather his wits, and for a few minutes Shikamaru just leant against the wall, staring blankly at nothing, and taking in short, desperate breaths and willing himself not to throw up or collapse.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think? The potential for tragedy was all he could focus on. He wasn’t given to optimism; it was a side effect of being a genius. He saw the world for what it was, and he prepared for the worse because that was usually what happened.

But this . . . this was a _worst_ he couldn’t handle. This was one he couldn’t fathom.

This was too much.


	2. Chapter 2

Shikadai was curled on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, when Shikamaru returned home. He glanced up at his father, sniffing loudly and wiping the back of his hand across his nose. “Um . . . is . . . is . . .”

“She’s asleep right now,” Shikamaru provided. He moved to sit down on one of the armchairs. His stomach was still twisting itself in knots, because the possibility of her never waking up was too real, and too close. Shikamaru closed his eyes, breathing in slowly and evenly in an attempt to tamp down his rising nausea.

All he could see was the inside of that hospital room, and a terrifying array of machines surrounding Temari that reminded him of torture devices, and things that should never, ever be near his princess. The urge to vomit rose up again, but Shikamaru stubbornly pushed it aside.

Shikadai folded in on himself a bit more.

“What happened?” Shikamaru asked softly, opening his eyes and looking at Shikadai. The room lurched for a second before coming into focus.

Shikadai sniffed again, shrugging one shoulder casually to cover up his own despair. “She protected me. And I should have seen it coming. Should have done something. Done better.” His breath shuddered and he scrunched up his face, pushing down tears. “Um, it was pretty quick. We were just doing our mission and these people attacked out of nowhere. I thought we were all gonna die, but then Mom was there and she . . .” He hesitated, and tried again in a softer, shakier voice, “She saved me.”

Shikamaru expected nothing less of her. Temari would do anything for Shikadai. And he couldn’t blame her for that; he would have done the same. He just nodded, and Shikadai fell silent.

After an eternity, Shikadai asked, “Will she wake up again?”

There wasn’t a safe answer. There wasn’t a definite answer.

“I don’t know,” Shikamaru said hoarsely. Everything hurt. His chest hurt, and his throat hurt, and _fuck_ , his heart ached.

Shikadai stood up, mumbling, “Gonna go to bed . . .”

“Okay.”

Shikadai padded out the room, and when Shikamaru trusted himself to move without vomiting, he went to bed as well.

He had spent nights alone in their bed since they got married, of course, but never when Temari was in the village. The fact that she was so close, but unable to be with him, made his chest tighten.

Shikamaru rolled to her side of the bed, pressing his face into her pillow, wishing he could feel her warmth with him, wishing she were there, and fine, and in no danger.

The room was so quiet without her breathing next to him. It was cold, and lonely, and he tossed restlessly for a few minutes, unable to settle down. He couldn’t remember the last time falling asleep had been hard. It was always easy.

Snuggle up to Temari, close his eyes, and he was gone until morning.

But she wasn’t there. And he couldn’t lie back and smile and imagine her in Suna, sitting up in bed and reading, and probably thinking of him, and he couldn’t count the nights until she would be home, and he couldn’t say to himself that the distance between them was long, but familiar, and he knew she was safe.

Because she wasn’t safe, and she was too close and yet so, so far away, and he couldn’t live without her.

And what if she never came back. What if she never lay next to him again. What if the last time they would sleep side by side had been the previous night, and he had taken it for granted, and not relished every second, and he didn’t know how to be alone.

Shikamaru threw the blankets back, getting up and wandering to the lounge.

Shikadai woke up, eyes fluttering in the darkness, heart moving faster than normal. He had no idea what woke him. Probably a nightmare.

Or just guilt.

He sat up, scratching a hand through his hair. Sleep didn’t seem like it would return any time soon, so Shikadai got out of bed, intending to go and grab a glass of water.

He moved soundlessly through the house, passing the lounge, and pausing. He backed up a step, looking inside.

Shikamaru had moved to the couch, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, a blanket flung haphazardly across him.

“Dad?”

Shikamaru lifted his head. “Shikadai? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Woke up. Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Shikadai hesitated. “. . . Can I sit with you for a while?”

Shikamaru nodded, sitting up to make room.

Shikadai curled up on the other end of the couch, quiet and remorseful. They sat in silence, and after a few minutes Shikadai’s eyes drifted closed. Shikamaru waited until he was certain Shikadai was asleep before standing up and gathering the boy carefully into his arms.

Shikadai had always been a heavy sleeper, and Shikamaru carried him back to his bed, laying him down and tucking the blankets around him. As an afterthought, Shikamaru fetched the white fluffy duck off the bookshelf to place it next to Shikadai as he slept. The duck used to be on his bed every night, but several years ago Shikadai claimed he was too old for it, whilst simultaneously refusing to give it away.

Satisfied that at least one of them would be able to sleep soundly, Shikamaru wandered the house again. He went to the kitchen, poked the dirty dishes around, went onto the porch to stare at the stars, then gave up on any sort of distractions and plopped himself back on the couch and let the night pass him by in a long, slow silence.

Shikamaru blinked slowly the next morning, staring into his coffee. His head felt fuzzy. He was so, so tired.

Shikadai padded into the kitchen, murmuring a good morning, and then rummaging in the cabinet for a granola bar, and vanishing just as seamlessly as he arrived.

Shikamaru barely noticed. He finished his coffee and hesitated. He glanced at the sink, and after a long moment, left his mug on the table.

“Same as yesterday,” Sakura said before Shikamaru could even get a word in.

He entered the room. “Are you sure?”

“No better, no worse.” She offered him an encouraging smile. “That’s better than it could be.”

He swallowed hard, glancing at the bed where Temari lay. She was perfectly still, and she shouldn’t be. She should always be moving, and nagging him, and snickering with him at the private little things they found funny, and lecturing Shikadai.

“You can stay here for a while,” Sakura said, glancing around the room. “We’ll probably do a bit more work on her this afternoon once I’m happy she’s been stable for longer than a few hours. Just shout if you need anything, okay?”

Shikamaru nodded, moving slowly to the bed.

There was an awkward tightness in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. He pulled the chair in the room closer and sat down heavily, feeling like his legs were about to give out. After a moment of careful breathing he reached out for one of Temari’s hands – so still, and so limp, and so unlike her – and held it between his own.

“You weren’t there to yell at me about my coffee mug,” he murmured. “I’ve left it on the table. And you’re supposed to tell me to move it,” he could feel a lump growing in his throat. “It’s not like when you’re in Suna, because you’re here, _you’re right here,_ and I’m waiting for you, okay?” He kissed her fingers gently. “I’m waiting right here.”

There was no reply, and he ached for one. For anything. She could slap him through the face for being a crybaby, he didn’t care.

“Shikamaru?” Someone called him softly from the door.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, sitting back, shoulders slumping. “Yeah?”

Naruto hesitated in the doorway. “Just wanted to check on you. And let you know Shikadai’s sleeping over with Boruto tonight.”

“Thank you,” Shikamaru murmured.

“How are you doing?”

He shrugged, unsure of how to answer.

“Okay, well,” Naruto shifted awkwardly. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

After another short, uncomfortable pause, Naruto left, and Shikamaru leant forwards again, folding his arms on the side of the bed and resting his head on them. He kept one hand tangled in Temari’s, staring dully at their entwined fingers.

He woke with a start when Sakura tapped him on the shoulder.

“Go home,” she said. “You look like hell.”

He didn’t bother to dispute her.

“You have a son that needs your attention as well,” Sakura chastised gently. “What would Temari say if she found out you’d been ignoring him and sitting here where you can’t do anything?”

He didn’t answer.

“She’d be pretty mad at you.”

Good. She could give him a lecture right now. She could roll her eyes and snap about him being a sappy crybaby. She could do whatever she wanted as long as she was awake. She could tell him to man up and go home; he would do anything just to hear her voice.

“Shikamaru,” Sakura said again, her voice growing firmer. “Go. You can’t do anything for her here, and Shikadai needs you more.”

“But I need her.”

“We’re doing what we can. And I’m kicking you out anyway because I’m taking her back into surgery and seeing if there’s more we can do.” When Shikamaru turned a worried expression to her, Sakura assured, “We couldn’t do everything we needed to yesterday. The surgery would have been too long, and she was too weak.”

Shikamaru felt his chest constrict again.

“We’re doing our best. Now go home, try to sleep, eat something, and I’ll call you as soon as she’s out, okay?”

He nodded, but it felt like he was autopilot; the motion hadn’t been his idea. But somehow, he took himself home, uncertain of anything that had happened along the way. He might have seen people. Someone might have greeted him. He wouldn’t know, and he didn’t care.

His hand was shaking when he opened the front door, and he wondered if that was from nerves, or because he hadn’t eaten anything since Temari had been injured. _She’d be mad at you_ , he thought. _She’d tell you to eat something, and get over it, and stop being such a crybaby._

He wanted to hear her say it. It wasn’t the same in his head, it didn’t have the same sharpness to it, and he closed the door quietly, willing himself not to look at his trembling hands.

Shikadai had left a backpack by the front door – no doubt for going to spend the night with Boruto. Shikamaru made a mental note to check that he had packed something useful and not just a ton of games.

Shikadai was in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil. He glanced over his shoulder as Shikamaru entered. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Shikamaru stopped near the table, unsure of what to do with himself.

“You want something to eat?” Shikadai asked. “It’s just ramen, but I can make you some, too.”

Shikamaru shook his head.

Shikadai paused, jaw tightening. Finally, he turned, “Are you mad at me?”

Shikamaru lifted his head. “What? No.”

“Because you’ve barely spoken to me, and it’s my fault Mom got hurt, so you must be mad at me.”

Absently, Shikamaru’s eyes roved the kitchen. Wordlessly, he picked his coffee mug off the table, and looked towards the sink. He made to move towards it, before changing his mind and setting the mug down again. Shikadai watched him, eyes dark and weary.

Shikamaru sat down at the table, feeling heavy and sluggish. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Hard to tell,” Shikadai said bitterly. “You’re supposed to tell me everything’s gonna be fine, and Mom’ll be fine, and I need to be strong, because that’s what shinobi do. That she’s had worse, and this is nothing, and she’ll be home before we know it,” his voiced wavered at the end.

“I can’t,” Shikamaru whispered.

Like a bubble burst, Shikadai’s frustration exploded from him.

“Why not?” Shikadai asked sharply.

“Because you only have one strong parent, okay, and it’s _not me_ ,” Shikamaru snapped back. “It’s _never_ been me. I’m _nothing_ if she’s not here with me.”

Shikadai drew back a bit, looking startled. He hesitated, then spoke quietly. “But . . . Mom’ll be okay . . .”

“I don’t know. _I don’t know_ ,” Shikamaru felt the room spin for a second, and he closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. “Shikadai, I don’t know, and I can’t . . . _Fuck_ , there is no future without her, and I know I’m supposed to be strong for you, but I _can’t_.”

Shikadai stayed very still.

The kettle clicked off, the water boiled, but Shikadai made no move to pick it up. He stared at his father.

The silence continued, heavy and tense, and finally Shikadai whispered, “I’m going to Boruto.”

Shikamaru just nodded. He knew he should say something. He didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but silence was definitely the wrong thing. But he had no words, and he had no comfort to offer, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Shikadai padded out silently, and Shikamaru stared blankly at the kitchen table.

What were you supposed to do when the world started falling down around you?

“So,” Shikamaru’s voice trembled. “She’s back in surgery now . . . and Sakura says it’ll be okay . . . but I’m not . . . I don’t know if she’s telling the truth.”

The other end of the line was silent for a while, then Kankuro heaved a sigh. “Look, she’s tough. She’s been through things you couldn’t imagine. She’ll bounce back. She always does.”

“You didn’t see her . . .” He was swallowing back tears again, hand shaking as it held the phone.

“Hey,” Kankuro sounded surprisingly gentle. “Are you doing okay? I can come on the next train, if you need. Gaara won’t be able to get away for a few days, but he’ll come as soon as he can.”

“I don’t . . .” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what I want.” He did, but it was currently unattainable. He wanted Temari with him, so he didn’t have to sleep alone. He wanted to know she would be fine. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her. Just her.

“If you need me to come, just call again. But Sakura knows what she’s doing, and if she thought we needed to panic she would have contacted me and Gaara. So that’s a good sign.”

Or everyone else was in denial, because they didn’t see the world as clearly as Shikamaru saw it. He said nothing in reply, though, too busy noticing how his stomach was churning again, absolutely sick with worry.

“Shikamaru?”

“Still here,” he rasped.

“Do you need me to come to Konoha?” Kankuro asked, plainly and firmly.

Shikamaru shook his head, even though Kankuro couldn’t see it. “I’ll . . . it’s okay. No. I’ll be fine.”

“And Shikadai?”

“He’s okay.”

“I’ll call him and check in later. And you, too. She’ll be fine.”

Would she be fine? Not according to the statistics, and numbers were reliable. Shikamaru had always wanted to believe Temari was invincible, because she was all the strength in his life, and now that she had been taken down, he felt weak and pathetic and barely able to think.

This was not the usual walk it off, have a laugh, spend a few days groaning and complaining about stiffness and pain that they were used to. This was different. This wasn’t just a ‘she’s tough, she’ll be fine’ and dismiss it.

This could very well be the end.

“Okay,” he murmured. If he stayed very still, maybe he wouldn’t vomit at the mere thought that Temari might not walk through the door ever again. He felt as though all the energy drained from his body, and he just wanted to go to sleep and only wake up when the world was better, and Temari was beside him. “Bye.”

If Kankuro was offended by his cold and offhand way of ending conversations, he didn’t show it. “Bye. We’ll talk later.”

Shikamaru let the phone drop without caring where it landed, and scrubbed his hands across his face, exhaling loudly. He was so tired, and drained, and done with everything. The uncertainty was going to wear him down. He couldn’t live with something so important having no clear answer.

He was used to solving problems. He was used to having all the answers. But his own personal hopes were conflicting with the sensible, statistical side of his brain, and the juxtaposition of wanting Temari to be okay and the probability that she would never be okay was sending his brain in endless loops.

He needed sleep. He needed sleep, and probably something to eat, and the thought of either of those things made him feel worse.

He gave up on the notion of eating anything, and went to sleep in Shikadai’s bed, so he wouldn’t have to smell her on her pillow, and want to reach across to hold her.


	3. Chapter 3

Sakura called in the middle of the night, and before he had even answered the phone, Shikamaru’s heart seized with panic, because phone calls in the middle of the night never meant anything good. His hand was shaking violently as he held the phone, and his voice was no steadier. “Hello?”

“She’s doing better,” Sakura said gently, without preamble, and Shikamaru was glad he was sitting down already because his whole body felt weak with relief. “Surgery was fine, no complications. Now it’s just about waiting and hoping she’s got the strength to recover.”

“So . . . so she’ll be okay?” His voice was drenched in hope, desperately trying to find something concrete to hold onto.

“I don’t know yet. All I know is I’ve reset all her bones and put everything back as it should be, and done the best job I could getting that lung working again. But Shikamaru,” Sakura continued seriously. “Any open fracture is cause for alarm. There’s the risk of infection. There’s the fact that she lost so much blood. There’s the possibility that the trauma was just too much and something will fail.”

But he couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t live with himself if she died.

“Infection is our main concern,” Sakura said. “But she’s made it through the first twenty-four hours. If there’s no sign of infection in the next two days, we should be okay.”

Two more days. Two more days of not knowing, of waiting and worrying and driving himself mad with _what ifs_ and _whens_ and _maybes_.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Can I see her again?”

“Get some sleep; come through in the morning,” Sakura said. “She’s going nowhere, and you need to rest.”

But what if she died in the night and he wasn’t there, and he had to spend the rest of his life regretting that he wasn’t with her, holding her hand, and -

“Shikamaru,” Sakura interrupted his racing thoughts. “Go to sleep. She’ll be fine without you until morning.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He hung up, feeling the rising nausea again. Sleep didn’t seem likely; his heart was hammering too much and he couldn’t imagine it was going to slow down anytime soon. He stood up, legs shaking, and made it to the lounge to flick on the TV and spend the rest of the night watching it blankly.

He left his coffee mug on the table next to the previous day’s one. They were both lined up neatly, and for a few minutes after he had finished he just stared at them and waited to be told to put them in the sink.

The silence was sickening. He wished Shikadai had come home, just so the house wasn’t so quiet. Mornings were not meant to be quiet. They were meant to be filled with nonsensical conversations, and nagging, and quippy arguments.

Sitting in the kitchen was making his stomach churn, so he left without eating and went to the hospital.

Sakura looked like she hadn’t slept either, and was on her way home. She let him into Temari’s room with a yawn. “Everything should be fine. A nurse will pop around every few hours to check on her.”

Shikamaru stepped into the room, vision blurring with unexpected tears, that he blinked away, and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“I wouldn’t expect her to wake up today,” Sakura said. “Maybe tomorrow, but probably not. But I’ll leave you for now. Call me if anything changes, okay?”

He nodded, sitting down and staring at Temari’s face. Far too still for his liking. He didn’t even notice Sakura leaving. He carefully combed his fingers through Temari’s hair, easing out tangles. When he was done, he slumped hopelessly into his chair and stared blankly at nothing.

After a while, he took one of her hands in his, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles. “Miss you,” he murmured. “Come back, okay? I’m right here waiting.”

The silence hurt.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he continued. “You’re meant to be at home with me, and you’re meant to be telling me off. I didn’t put my mug in the sink – and I’ve been acting shit towards Shikadai lately. I’m sorry. I know you’d hate that. I just . . . I can’t see a point to anything if you’re not there. I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll try be better for him . . .”

That, too, seemed near impossible. Anything that wasn’t Temari had been pushed out of his mind, had been shelved and put on hold, until such a time as he had the brain power to spare for something other than worry and longing and waiting.

The world was on hold for as long as Temari’s life hung uncertainly.

Three mugs sat in a neat line on the kitchen table, and Shikamaru sat slumped in his seat, staring at them. Three days. Three days since she had been home.

He heard the back door open, but didn’t glance behind him to check who it was. It could only be Shikadai, or his mother. It wouldn’t be Temari.

“Don’t you have a job to go to?” His mother, then.

Shikamaru idly turned one mug around.

“Where is Shikadai?”

“Not sure.”

“Why not?” Yoshino dumped something on the counter – he could hear the thud - then rounded the table to stare at him. “Shikamaru, you can’t sit here doing nothing. You have responsibilities.”

He said nothing. No one understood. How could he possibly think about work or the village or anything else while Temari’s life hung uncertainly in the balance? How could anyone expect anything of him, when he couldn’t blink without seeing her pale face and couldn’t sit down without hearing the sounds of a hospital, and couldn’t breathe without numbers pounding around his head and reminding him that the odds were not with him.

“Have you asked Shikadai how he’s feeling? Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s okay,” Shikamaru murmured.

“How would you know?” Yoshino took a step closer to him, eyes blazing. “He’s been at my house the last two days – did you even know that? Did you have any clue where your son was? Did you care?”

He raised his eyes wearily to her. Temari would have given him a good slap across the face for the way he was acting, and he thought maybe he needed that. But she wasn’t there to give it to him.

“You can’t ignore him. He’s hurting, too. He needs you.”

“I need her.”

“What you need,” Yoshino began acerbically, “Is to sleep, shower, eat something, and go to work. And then talk to your son.”

He couldn’t deny that, so he remained silent.

Yoshino’s patience fled. “Shikamaru! You can’t keep acting like this. You can’t keep dwelling on Temari - who you can’t do anything for - and ignore the part of your family that needs your help and is available for it. For gods’ sake, what would she think of you?”

He stared at the mugs. _One, two, three-_

“If she dies,” her words cut like knives and Shikamaru felt his stomach twist, and he flinched in place, “Is this the way you’re going to live? Ignoring Shikadai?”

_No_ , he thought. He would figure it out eventually. It was the uncertainly that was destroying him. The _will she, won’t she_ , the _maybe, maybe not_.

Yoshino seemed to realize he wasn’t going to engage. Her voice remained sharp. “I brought you something to eat. Shikadai knows about it. When you sit at the hospital today ignoring your life, spare a thought for your son who’s waiting to speak to you.”

There wasn’t anything he could say in reply to that. He stared dully at nothing, flinching only slightly when Yoshino slammed the back door behind her as she left. He knew he needed to do something. He knew he needed to function and continue on with life, but he was paralyzed with terror that his life with Temari was ending. Nothing else seemed important enough to move him to action.

Nothing else mattered but her.

He knew it was wrong, but healthy emotional reactions had never been his forte. A part of him hated himself for acting the way he was, for completely forgoing any sort of logic or common sense, but he couldn’t summon the energy to do something about it.

Eventually, he heaved himself to his feet so he could go to the hospital.

His two days of waiting were nearly up, and he was feeling a little tendril of optimistic hope. No infection so far. No sign of complications. She was still critical, but it looked like maybe there wouldn’t be anything additional to worry over, other than her slow, but expected, recovery.

“Got three mugs waiting,” he murmured. “You owe me three days of yelling.”

He sat back in his seat, just watching her. He had no idea how much time had passed before something interrupted his melancholy silence.

“Hey.”

Shikamaru looked towards the door at the sound of a familiar voice.

Chouji was watching him carefully. “You doing okay?”

“No.” Shikamaru rubbed a hand across his face. “I thought you were away from the village?”

“Came back early.” Chouji entered the room. “Shikadai said you were having a hard time.”

‘Hard time’ seemed like an understatement. Shikamaru felt like shit, and probably looked it, and he didn’t have the energy to care.

His voice was paper thin when he spoke, “I can’t live without her.”

Chouji laid a gentle hand on Shikamaru’s shoulder.

Shikamaru shook his head slowly. “Chouji . . . What would I do without her?”

“She’s going to be fine-“

“No,” Shikamaru snapped, surprising both himself and Chouji with the force of his tone. “You don’t get to say that. _No one_ gets to say that. No one gets to throw around false hope like it means something. You don’t _know_ that she’ll be fine. No one _knows_. Everyone just says she will be because that’s what you say when there’s no chance things will work out okay. That’s what you say when there’s nothing else to tell people. Those are the lies we tell ourselves and tell our children. But it means _nothing_. It doesn’t mean she’ll be okay, it doesn’t mean she’ll ever wake up, it doesn’t mean the next time Sakura takes her into surgery she won’t die right there on the table and I’ll never get to tell her goodbye and the other things I need to say to her.”

Chouji stayed quiet, and Shikamaru slumped back into his seat, looking miserable and defeated.

“I’ve lost too many people,” he murmured. “I’ve watched too many die in front of me, and now she could be the next one, and things weren’t supposed to go like this.” God, _fuck_ , his chest hurt, and he couldn’t see past the tears in his eyes. Frustrated, he rubbed them away.

“Do you want to talk?” Chouji asked softly.

Shikamaru shook his head.

“Do you want me to stay and just sit with you?”

With a shuddering exhale, Shikamaru nodded.

He used her mug for coffee the next morning. And lined it up next to the other three.

She had several, but favoured, for some unfathomable reason, the pale yellow one with a teddy bear on it.

Shikamaru studied the line of mugs. Four of them, now, and each one he added made his stomach turn.

“Dad?”

He raised his head to see Shikadai hovering apprehensively in the kitchen doorway.

“How’s Mom?”

Shikamaru scrubbed a hand across his face. “Just waiting for her to wake up.”

“Is she . . . going to be fine?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe. Maybe not.” Shikamaru was not optimistic by nature.

“Can I come and see her after my mission today?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You can see her any time you want.”

Shikadai took an uncertain step inside. His hesitance made something snap into place inside Shikamaru, and he cleared his throat, conscience still stinging from Yoshino’s visit. “How are you doing?”

Shikadai shrugged. “Kankuro and Gaara call me every day. Just to check in. I guess I’m alright, but I’d feel better if I knew she would be fine . . .”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I don’t think I sounded particularly sincere,” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes again. “I don’t blame you at all. Don’t feel guilty for what happened. None of it was your fault. I’m not angry at you.”

“I know,” Shikadai edged a bit closer. He was talking quietly, unlike his usual overly confident snark. “I just . . . I’m just worried about her. That’s all.”

“Me too.”

“When will we know if she’ll be okay?”

“Could be in a few days. I’m . . . I’m going to sit with her again after breakfast.” He had barely eaten a thing in these last four days, but Shikadai didn’t need to know that, and add that to his list of worries. “Maybe Sakura will have more information for me.”

“Okay.” Shikadai sounded small. “I’m gonna go now. I’m skipping training today to see Mom, if that’s okay . . .?”

“It’s fine.”

Shikadai nodded slowly, then shrugged awkwardly. Neither of them really knew what they were supposed to say to the other. After an odd, tense silence, Shikadai left, and Shikamaru waited until the coffee he had drunk stopped churning in his stomach before getting up and going to the hospital.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.

Sakura offered him a sincere smile this time as he slunk into Temari’s room, looking haunted.

“Right now,” Sakura said, “It’s mostly a wait and hope game.”

Waiting he was good at. Hoping, not so much.

“She made it through the critical period,” Sakura reminded him. “So things are looking better.”

He just nodded blankly, staring at Temari. She looked a bit better. Not quite as pale, but still so . . . peaceful. Unmoving.

Things that she should never be.

When Sakura left, Shikamaru sank down into the chair next to Temari’s bed, and just stared at her. There was an agonizing numbness spreading through his body, the result of days of gnawing panic, and possibly subsisting on nothing but coffee and cigarettes. He mentally added that to the list of things she had to shout at him for.

“Four,” he said eventually. “Four mugs. How long are you going to do this to me?”

There was, predictably, no response.

“You’ve swooped in and saved me so many times before. I need you to do it again. One more time. I need you to come to my rescue, because I’m drowning here without you. There’s no plan for a life without you in it. I’m trying to be patient, but after living with you for so long you’ve rubbed off on me, and I just want you right here, and right now.”

He sighed, slumping in his seat. “Any time, Princess.”

He fell into silence then, trying to convince himself things would be okay. She made it this far, he reminded himself. The risk of death was lowered. Not gone, but lowered, and the constant knot in his stomach softened a fraction. He could almost believe everything would be fine.

She could be home soon. Life could continue.

The morning ticked on, and Shikamaru lapsed into deep thought. After a while, he closed his eyes, feeling the stress of the last few days starting to weigh on him. He hadn’t slept properly. He was barely functioning. It wasn’t particularly comfortable in the chair, but he had slept in worse places, and so he settled down as best he could, trying to shift into a position that wouldn’t cause horrible neck pain.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been before something prompted him awake. He didn’t open his eyes, but paid attention to the room. Nothing had audibly changed, and he was about to drift off again, thinking he had woken for nothing.

“Is Shikadai okay?” The question was weak and tremulous, and the most beautiful sound Shikamaru had heard in a long time.

He shot to his feet, heart leaping. “Tem? Babe? Oh, thank god,” he managed to not start crying on the spot – score one for whatever was left of his dignity – and instead hovered over her, looking searchingly at her face.

Her eyes were half open, missing the usual fire brightness he loved to stare at, but she looked clearly at him.

“Shikadai’s fine,” he said, practically vibrating with emotion. “He’s fine, I promise, he wasn’t hurt. You kept him safe. _Fuck_ , you scared me half to death.”

Gently, he smoothed back her hair, trying to remember to breathe. “Tem, love, darling, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“Have you,” Temari paused, closing her eyes for a moment, drawing in a difficult breath. She tried again, “Have you been here moping the entire time?”

Yes. Yes, definitely, of course, anything that would get her to scold him and berate him and tell him he was a needy idiot. “Kinda, yeah.”

She opened her eyes to look at him, and he was caught in her gaze, knees going absolutely weak because he could finally look at her, and she was looking back at him. He had spent his life surrounded by forests, and his favourite one was the one trapped in her eyes.

He swallowed back tears. “How . . . how are you feeling?”

“Like someone snapped my chest open.”

“They did.”

“That explains it.” She breathed carefully again. “. . . How long’s it been?”

“Four days.”

“Ugh,” she grimaced. “Been a while since I’ve taken an injury like that.”

“Don’t make a habit of it.” He leaned down to press a very light kiss to her forehead. He whispered again, “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

They had a few more minutes of peace, wherein Shikamaru just stayed where he was with his nose pressed into her hair and trying not to pass out from sheer relief, before Sakura appeared in the doorway with a wide smile. “I thought I heard more than one voice in here.”

Shikamaru moved aside so Sakura could check Temari over, and assure Shikamaru that everything seemed normal, and their critical period was likely over and it was just a matter of time to recover. Shikamaru barely heard a word of it; he was too busy staring at Temari.

Once Sakura left, Shikamaru climbed onto the bed next to her, on her good side, unable to stand being apart for any longer. Temari was perfectly happy to snuggle into the warmth of his side, and they sat together in silence. Shikamaru was weak with relief that she was awake and talking, and didn’t think he would be able to stand up anyway, so sitting right against her seemed like a good plan.

“You okay?” he murmured, after a few minutes.

“Everything hurts, but I guess that’s to be expected.”

He entwined their fingers, ecstatic to have her finally grip him in return, and no longer be limp and unresponsive.

“I used your mug this morning,” he said, casually, grasping for something normal.

“Did you clean it?”

“No,” Shikamaru looked at her, smiling broadly. “I left it for you to clean when you got home.”

“You’re an ass, and such a dork.”

He tipped his head, resting it against hers. She closed her eyes, leaning a bit more heavily into him. He felt peaceful, for the first time in days, almost knocked over by the sense of calm. He turned his head so his nose was buried in her hair, breathing her in.

“I love you,” he murmured, barely louder than a breath, but he just needed to get it out.

She didn’t say anything in reply, but he felt her shift her shoulder ever so slightly to let him know that he had been heard.

“Do you need to sleep?” he asked.

“No, I’m awake. I’m fine.”

Shikamaru let the silence linger around them again, until his attention was caught by movement outside. Carefully, Shikadai peered around the door. Shikamaru nudged Temari to get her attention, and she blinked tiredly before locking her eyes onto the door.

“Mom?” Shikadai’s voice trembled. He gripped the doorframe with tense fingers.

“Hey, kid,” Temari said warmly.

Shikadai took a few cautious steps into the room. “. . . Are you okay?”

“Better than you, apparently,” Temari frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Shikadai’s expression crumpled a bit. “Just . . . My fault you almost died . . .”

“Not your fault,” Temari assured, gently beckoning him closer. “And I wouldn’t change what happened, either. If one of us had to take a hit, I’d rather they missed you and got me.”

Shikadai crept to her side, and Temari gently elbowed Shikamaru. He took the hint, getting off the bed so Shikadai could clamber up on her good side and bury his face against her shoulder. Temari wrapped an arm around him, and sent Shikamaru a soft look.

He let out an audible sigh of relief, and Shikadai remained firmly stuck against Temari.

Temari studied Shikamaru closely, and asked cheekily, “Did you cry?”

She was teasing, but he answered honestly, “I fell apart.”

Shikadai nuzzled a bit harder against her, and Temari had the sneaking suspicion he was saying the exact same thing.

“Couldn’t function without you,” Shikamaru admitted. “Couldn’t do a damn thing. I just waited. Just . . . waited for you to come back to me . . .” He shook his head slowly. “Never do that to me again. I can’t do that again.”

Temari flicked her eyes down to Shikadai, before looking at Shikamaru again, saying firmly, “I’ll do whatever I need to if it means protecting him.”

“I know.” Shikamaru sighed. “But maybe . . . maybe tone down the drama a bit? I’m getting too old for this.”

She smiled at him. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“I’m quite happy where I am, thank you,” Shikamaru ran a hand through her hair again, needing to touch her, needing to reassure himself that she was there, and okay, and he didn’t have to worry himself sick anymore.

“I haven’t been that scared in a long time,” he admitted softly. “And I didn’t have you there to help me.”

Temari leant into his hand. “I’m here now.”

“Told you she’d be fine,” Kankuro muttered, but he sounded gentle and quietly pleased, and Shikamaru smiled at the phone as he clicked his sixth coffee mug into place on the table, completing the long row.

“She’s coming home today,” he said, sounding happier than he had in a week.

“Isn’t it rather soon?” Gaara was a bit muffled, as Shikamaru imagined he was wedged against Kankuro’s side to hear what Shikamaru was saying.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t like being at the hospital, and she’ll be happier resting at home.” And he would be happier with her at home. He would be anchored and sane knowing she was with him again. All he needed was to have her sleeping beside him, and her voice in the house, and her laughter at whatever he was doing, and her gently reprimanding Shikadai for the way he kept blaming himself for everything that had happened.

“Okay, well,” Kankuro cleared his throat. “Let us know how she is this evening.”

“I will,” he assured, before switching the phone off, throwing it aside without a care, and making his way to the hospital, feeling free and light.

Shikadai was already there, curled against Temari’s side once more, and Shikamaru stopped before entering the room, wondering what they were talking about.

“Say it again,” Temari said, and Shikamaru heard Shikadai heave a sigh before mumbling, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Do you believe it yet?”

“Maybe . . .” Shikadai’s voice trailed off at the end.

Quietly, to himself, Shikamaru whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Temari’s tone was stern. “Shikadai. Move on.”

“But-“

“Say ‘but’ again, and I’ll kick yours.”

Shikamaru bit back a chuckle.

“Did you attack your team and start a fight?” Temari continued.

Shikadai replied, “No, but-“

“Did you stand around doing nothing when they attacked, instead of fighting as hard as you could and as well as you could?”

“No, but-“

“Did you make the conscious decision to get in the way of a strong attack?”

“No,” he murmured.

“Right. Not your fault, kid.”

“But you got hurt.”

“Yeah,” Temari sounded relaxed about that. “Rather me than you.”

“Rather neither of you,” Shikamaru said, entering the room.

Shikadai moved hastily off the bed, not wanting to be caught snuggling his mother. It would be a bruise to the ego for sure, and Shikamaru bit back a smile at the thought. He pointedly did not single Shikadai out for teasing, though, and instead looked at Temari. “Ready to go home?”

“Definitely,” she nodded.

“Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?”

She scoffed. “It’s not a leg injury, Shikamaru. I can walk.”

“You blew up half a lung.”

“That’s why I have two.”

He sighed, but fondly. That was his feisty, snappy, firecracker princess right there.

She was going to be fine.

“You okay?” Shikamaru asked, passing Shikadai on his way to bed.

“Yeah,” Shikadai shrugged. “I’m fine. I’ll . . . I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Shikamaru said, and Shikadai stopped walking. “I . . . didn’t exactly handle your mom being in the hospital in a particularly healthy way.”

“S’okay,” Shikadai replied. He stared at the floor, face set in a frown. Eventually, he murmured, “I won’t let something like this happen again.”

Shikamaru patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, unsure of what to say. He was achingly proud of Shikadai’s newfound determination, but not one to give out false comfort, and there was no way to know how the future played out. But whatever happened, Shikadai was going to prepare for it.

Shikamaru was pleased with that, and gave Shikadai’s shoulder a last affectionate squeeze before letting go and watching the boy head off to his room.

“Still awake?” Shikamaru asked, on entering his and Temari’s bedroom.

Temari made a murmuring noise, which Shikamaru assumed was a vague attempt at ‘yes’. She was situated on their bed, having finally found a comfortable position to lie in.

“Need anything?”

She shook her head slowly, not opening her eyes.

“Feeling okay?”

“Stop hovering,” she muttered. “I just need to sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Any pain?”

“Shikamaru,” she sighed. “The amount of painkillers in my system right now means I’m not feeling anything. Either shut up, or change the subject.”

Carefully, watching her for any signs of discomfort, he climbed onto the bed next to her. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Glad to have you home.”

“Hm.”

“Just promise me you won’t go into the kitchen,” Shikamaru said. He snuggled up as close as he could. “You can see my slow descent into madness on the kitchen table.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry. Go to sleep.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Although, if you want tea in the morning, I may need to do the dishes first . . .”

She didn’t question him further, and he occupied himself with laying gentle kisses on her hair and forehead. He was still marveling at her return home. He felt like he had a second chance, he had her to himself all over again.

“Tem?” he murmured between kisses, voice soft, in case she was asleep.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

A slow smile curled her lips. She didn’t open her eyes, but mumbled back, “Love you too, crybaby.”

“Everyone tried to tell me you’d be fine, and I didn’t believe them. Only you,” he added, laying a hand softly on her stomach, since he couldn’t wrap his arm around her and pull her close. “You’re the only one I can believe. You’re all that matters. So if you can, if you’re not asleep, just let me know everything’s going to be fine . . . Just tell me you’re too tough for the world to bring down, and nothing can take you away from me.” He kissed her hair again, “Tell me that.”

For a while, she was silent, and Shikamaru thought maybe she had been knocked out by whatever manner of drugs Sakura had sent them home with. But then she laid her hand over his, took in as deep a breath as she could manage, and told him, “It’ll all be alright.”

Shikamaru got up early the next morning to wash six mugs.


End file.
